The Third Camp
by Soz
Summary: Prequel to Phoenix Ascending. What is the power of the press? Post GoF, Harry and Co. have to deal with the rumors circulating about Voldemort, when Rita Skeeter breaks her promise and the Wizarding World turns against them.
1. A Storm to Rock it to It's Very Foundati...

My first fic!!! (What a step...) Anyway I hope you like it, it's part of a series, I think– its a little too early to tell right now, and I'm sorry about the spelling of Mudugnous- I don't have GoF on hand right now to check it out. So read and review please... without further ado I present...  
  
THE THIRD CAMP  
CHAPTER I– A STORM TO ROCK ITS VERY FOUNDATIONS  
  
Albus Dumbledore stared around the mahogany table looking at all he had constructed over the last thirty years. Dumbledore could only hope that his building would stand this greatest- and hopefully last- storm to rock its very foundations. He hoped his aurors were ready. Albus looked around the table, seeing faces weary and untried,. Sitting amongst each other, banded together in their common quest. He saw Snape, his face veiled in dark shadow, Mudugnous Fletcher back from his abbreviated retirement, and Minerva, his right hand. Alastor Moody was glaring around the room acting as if everyone had Sirius Black hidden under their cloaks. In fact, one did, Sirius sat in the corner, his face hidden in the depths of a hood, Remus sitting at his side. Only one seat stood empty. Suddenly the door flew open and Arthur Weasley fell into the room.   
  
"Sorry I'm late," his face looked pale and strained, "But I saw this on the way–" Arthur strode over to the table and threw down a copy of the Daily Prophet– blazoned across the front page, staring up at the, with soulless gaping eyes was the dark mark.   
  
"Who?" McGonagall asked in a hollow sounding voice.   
  
Arthur sighed before taking his seat, "Karkaroff, supposedly he was on his way back to Drumstang when You-Know-Who caught up with him. He was found in several pieces..."  
  
The entire table grimaced and all eyes looked to Dumbledore hoping to see some answer in his voice. Finally after a silence that seemed to last an eternity, he spoke. "If anything, this only makes our cause more urgent. When Voldemort strikes, we must strike back."   
  
Snape looked up, his black eyes glittering, "And how long til he strikes us down? So many of our so called allies have joined him already the Parks, the O'Brians– he is growing stronger everyday as we loose our stranglehold. The odds are against us."   
  
Dumbledore's face was traced with the shadow of a smile, "Not so," he murmured, "Not so– we have something Voldemort never counted on, we have Harry Potter."   
  
----  
  
  
At that particular moment, Harry wasn't feeling very brave, or clever, or heroic in any stretch of the imagination. He was worrying, which, even though he knew it would do no good, seemed to be a major occupation these days. Harry didn't even have his friends to take his mind off his ever winding series of thoughts. All of the letters Ron had written had been hurried and brief, and ever since Hermione had gone to Bulgaria to visit Viktor, her letters had been few and far between. So he was left with only his own memories, snapshots playing over and over in a sadistic slid show; Voldemort's red cat eyes, his parents- ghosts from a wand, Wormtail's bleeding stump of a hand, Cedric spread across the ground like a rag doll, and the echo– the echo of a high pitched laugh...  
  
Harry thought it impossible to express how he felt, its was hard to imagine that a year ago his worries has extended only to Quiddich matches and Dudley's diet. For his entire life, Voldemort had been a far away menace that he had managed to defeat three times, even after he came head to head with him in the Chamber of Secrets, his evil-there was no other word for it- had never really registered. In all his life, Harry had never seriously believed that he could die, and now, seeing Cedric's limp form blazoned into his psyche, he wished with every ounce of soul he would never have to see Ron, Hermione, Sirius– lying there, and for the first time in his life, he feared his own death.   
  
A squawk from Hedwig brought Harry back to reality. Collapsing onto his bed, Harry weighed his options, he could lie upstairs and mope, decending further and further into misery, or he could go downstairs and eat. Dursleys or no, he desperately needed a distraction from the visions of Sirius receiving the Dementor's Kiss and Hagrid's hut with the Dark Mark swirling overhead. If something had happened to either of them, he would have heard... right?   
  
----  
When Harry entered the kitchen, Dudley's eyes didn't bedge from "SPACE INVADERS OF DOOM" blowing up aliens all over his TV set. Uncle Vernon was reading the paper and Aunt Petunia making dry wheat toast, the carbohydrates a reward to Dudley for losing 10 pounds. Harry for the life of him, couldn't see the difference, Dudley had matured into a full grown hog.   
  
Aunt Petunia scowled as she nudged the toast towards Harry carefully, like he was under some sort of quarrentine, then she left to get the mail. You didn't need to speak Parseltounge to interpret Uncle Vernon's meaningful grunt as "Eat and get out". Harry set about doing as such, not to please the Dursleys but simply to save his wavering sanity. Silence broken only by the death cries of B-movie aliens reigned in the room.   
  
A clicking of high heels renounced Aunt Petunia's presence. Harry pretended to be engrossed in the intricacies of his toast so he could avoid her disapproving stare. Uncle Vernon put down his paper and began to leaf through the letters muttering to himself, "...could have sworn I already paid that bill... Marge, hope she's well... no I don't want a motor bike, thank you very much... who the blazes is Tom Riddle..."  
  
Harry's head snapped up and breaking his unstated rule for invisibility yelled, "Give me that!"   
  
Uncle Vernon gave him the stare he reserved for mental patients and Arthur Weasley and began to open the letter– holding his breath, Harry was relieved to find it only contained one slip of paper, no spells, no tricks. Uncle Vernon snorted, "What nonsense is this?"  
  
"What does it say?" Harry asked, dreading the answer.   
  
Vernon considered him for a moment, as if weighing the pros and cons of civility before tossing him the letter. On a scrap of parchment two words were printed–  
  
ADAVA KADAVRA  
  
"Who is this Riddle?" Uncle Vernon was beginning to blather, "I don't want your friends contacting this house–"   
  
"He's trying to kill me," Harry said simply, still staring at the words. He needed Sirius– Dumbledore, anyone...  
  
"What?" Uncle Vernon's face went from purple to white in a heartbeat.   
  
Suddenly, a loud screech sounded in Harry's ears and looking up at the stunned faces of Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia (Dudley was still too wrapped up in "SPACE INVADERS OF DOOM" to notice) he was relieved to find that he wasn't the only one to hear it. A chirping, twittering, quivering, zipping, chortling all around annoying little gray ball of feather and parchment did several dilapidated loop-de-loops before banging into the side of Harry's head, and falling, dazed, right into Uncle Vernon's oatmeal. "Ow– Pig..." he muttered.   
  
Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia just gaped.   
  
His Uncle ventured to pluck the cheerfully twittering and sopping wet ball of feathers that was also his best friend's owl out of his breakfast. "And what," he said hsi voice radiating pure menace, "is this?"  
  
"It's Pig.. Ron's owl," at Uncle Vernon's blank look he continued, "You know Ron... the one who I went to the Quiddich World Cup with?" Dudley's hands moved instinctivly to his bottom. "Ah yes," Uncle Vernon growled, "The one who blew up my fireplace."   
  
Harry didn't have anything to say to this so he just smiled, "Do you think... I could have my letter?"   
  
  
Ignoring him, Uncle Vernon opened the letter, taking his time, obviously enjoying Harry's discomfort. Reading the first few lines, his grimace became more and more menacing. Even Dudley had torn himself away from the television to watch Harry's death sentence. "Dear Harry," he bagan, and with a shock Harry realized Uncle Vernon was reading the letter out loud, "Dumbledore said you could come! Mum's coming today, we got a new car so we don't have to blow up the fireplace this time. Hope the Dursleys aren't being too awful. Hope you're well too– Ron. PS- Karkaroff is dead, according to Dad, his body was found in several pieces. You-Know-Who of course, but Fudge told the Daily Prophet that it was the work of a lunatic, hope he doesn't try to pin it on Sirius. Bye again– Ron."   
  
Harry felt a sudden rush of adrenaline, the excitement of seeing Ron coupled with the fear from the news of Voldemort. It had only been a month since Cedric's death...  
  
Uncle Vernon's harsh voice bit into his thoughts, "Explain."   
  
Harry stared at him, caught off balance, "What do you mean– explain?"   
  
"This letter!" Uncle Vernon exploded, his face swelling up like an overgrown raspberry, "Karkaroff? You-Know-Who, I certainly do not know who!"  
  
Harry didn't know where exactly to begin, he had never discussed his life with the Dursleys, "You-Know-Who is Voldemort, he's an dark wizard... his real name is Tom Riddle–"  
  
Uncle Vernon stared at Ron's letter, "The one who blew up your parents."   
  
There was a pause in which Harry murmured, "Yes."   
  
"Good for noting gits they were, " Uncle Vernon smirked.   
  
That was too much, Harry leapt out of his seat, not caring if he was rising to the bait and stood glowering at Vernon, "Take that back!"   
  
"It's the truth, boy. Why else do you think you turned out– this way."   
  
"He's going to kill me if I don't go with Ron!"   
  
"Good," Vernon gave him a sickly smile, "Then I'll get my spare bedroom back."   
  
Harry stopped, the Dursleys hated him yes, wanted him out of the house, but he had never seriously thought they wanted him dead. "If he comes here you wont have a spare bedroom anymore." Harry said, trying to keep his anger in check. "Adava Kadavra is the killing curse."   
  
Aunt Petunia burst into tears.   
  
Then, as if the fates were conspiring against Harry, the doorbell rang.   



	2. In the Entry Hall

The second part of my wannabe epic :O), don't have much of an authors note so dig in (and PLEASE review!!)  
  
THE THIRD CAMP  
CHAPTER II– IN THE ENTRY HALL  
  
Despite Uncle Vernon's order to stay in the kitchen, or rather because of his order to do such, Harry followed him out into the corridor, his wand in hand. Uncle Vernon opened the door slowly... slowly... and then slammed it shut very fast. To his great horror, the door opened seemingly of its own accord and a small red haired woman stepped lightly into the hall, whose presence Uncle Vernon seemed terrified of. "Hello Harry, dear," said Mrs. Weasley.   
  
"Hello Mrs. Weasley." Before Uncle Vernon could say yea or nay, not that his input would be much regarded, another red haired boy bounded into the hallway, a boy Harry had been waiting to see for a long time, "Ron!"  
  
"Harry!"  
  
Feeling like he had the upper hand, Harry smiled sweetly at his uncle, "Uncle Vernon, this is my friend Ron and his mother."   
  
Uncle Vernon gave a curt nod, but his voice box seemed temporarily unhinged. "Ron– maybe you better got get Harry's things," Mrs. Weasley suggested pointedly.   
  
"I'll come too–" Harry began.   
"  
You'll do nothing of the sort." She gave him a stern glare.   
  
Ron shrugged and started upstairs, he knew where Harry's room was from the time when he had driven a flying car there, three years ago.   
  
Mrs. Weasley turned to Uncle Vernon, "You better start packing."   
  
He looked at her like she was insane, "What for?"  
  
"For your lives," her voice struck a chill in the warm July air. "Unless you plan on hanging around when You-Know-Who shows up."   
  
"I am not clearing out of my house for one of your kind–"  
  
"I would strongly recommend it," a new voice from behind Mrs. Weasley made Harry jump, a voice that sounded oddly familiar...  
  
"Who are you?" Uncle Vernon wheeled around, and Harry could barely suppress the grin of relief he knew must be plastered to his face.   
  
"Sirius Black," the man stepped into the hallway and extended his hand.   
  
Uncle Vernon's face went through a couple hundred emotions in a period of a few seconds, finally settling for the face one would wear when forced into a cage with a rabid cheetah. Slowly he took the hand and murmured something like, "coddleswallop"  
  
Sirius smiled broadly, "Harry had told me everything about you."   
  
Uncle Vernon's face turned to a dead man's pallor, "Has he?" he choked.   
  
"You know," Sirius said as if the idea had just occurred to him, "If you are looking for a place to stay, I have some room." Uncle Vernon looked as if he would have been rather locked in the cage with the rabid cheetah, "That's very... kind... we're not leaving."  
  
"Yes you are," Mrs. Weasley insisted as Aunt Petunia and Dudley inched into the hallway to see what was taking so long.   
  
"What's going on Vernon? Who are these people?" Aunt Petunia's voice was shrill and her hands were fluttering nervously. Dudley just gripped his bottom and choked.   
  
Eyes on Sirius, Uncle Vernon swallowed. "This is Ron's mother– the boy who sent us that... nice... letter, and... Sirius Black."   
  
Dudley squealed and ran out of the room. Aunt Petunia looked in need of a respirator. Sirius, on the other hand, looked quite pleased at all the fuss his name was causing.   
  
Sirius smiled at Petunia, who was eyeing him like he was a bloodthirsty polecat, "You must be Lily's sister. I was just telling Vernon that I'd like you to move in with me."   
  
Harry almost snorted, he was about to explode with laughter, but Mrs. Weasley gripped his arm and proceeded with trying to save the Dursley's lives. "You can't stay here, or you will die. I wish I could be less melodramatic but it's the truth. We're trying to help you." Aunt Petunia couldn't tear her eyes away from Sirius, but then Ron bounded, or attempted to bound, actual bounding was difficult, considering he was lugging a trunk and an owl down the stairs and cried, "Snuffles!"   
  
Excepting Harry, Ron ans Sirius, who seemed to find the situation hilarious, everyone- his mother included- seemed mortified at the fact that Ron was calling Sirius Black, the Sirius Black Snuffles.   
  
Aunt Petunia began to edge towards the kitchen.   
  
Choosing to ignore the fact that her youngest son had pet names for a convicted murderer, Mrs. Weasley made a last ditch attempt at the Dursleys. "Please come with us, for your own safety."   
  
When they remained paralyzed, Sirius waved his wand– where he got it, Harry didn't know, and three suitcases appeared. "You're leaving," he extended his wand at Vernon and Petunia like he had them at gunpoint, "Now." Uncle Vernon managed to nod dumbly as he grabbed a suitcase. 


	3. On the Road to the Burrow

finally a substantial authors note, thanks to all for the constructive criticism, spelling has always been my forte (hack!) ill get to the meaning of The Third Camp later (suspense... organ music) and I HAVE been misspelling Avada Kedavra. Actually I didn't mean for the story to be funny in the least-- strangely enough, I'm one of those people that feeds on pure drama and expected this to be as such, ah well the story sometimes writes itself if you catch my drift. And I forgot a disclaimer in my last two installments (I'm sure you all missed it so terribly much) DISCLAIMER-- JKR Harry Potter and the whole motley crew except for... well so far the Weasley's Car.... (sigh)  
  
THE THIRD CAMP  
CHAPTER III-- THE ROAD TO THE BURROW  
  
At long last-- the Weasley's had gotten a new car, an old forest green beat up Ford Prefect that somehow managed to hold four trunks, seven people (nine would be slightly more accurate considering Dudley's size) and two owls. The Dursleys were all crammed into a corner, clinging to each other for dear life while Uncle Vernon muttered something unintelligible about his company car. Harry and Ron sat next to them while He supposed Dumbledore had talked to Mrs. Weasley about Sirius's innocence for they took the front together conversing in hurried tones. Leaning forward Harry caught snippets of their conversation...  
"Lupin's coming, Figg, Cox, Moody, Snape--"  
"At your house?"  
"Tonight... he'll tell them, half already know"  
"Will it make a difference?"  
"...Fudge has to listen... Percy..."  
Straining to hear more, Harry gave it up when he saw what Ron was after. Leaning over Harry, Ron stared at Dudley, his face breaking into an evil grin strangely reminiscent of Fred and George. "Hello... Dudley."  
The boy just gaped at him.   
"I'm Ron, how are you?" Harry elbowed him, but Ron continued on undaunted. "I'm just ever so pleased to meet you, Harry's been telling me loads--" Dudley paled and tried, unsuccessfully, to fade into the car's upholstery, gripping him bottom ever tighter.   
Harry whispered, "Give it up Ron, he won't even talk to me anymore, not that its much of a loss."   
Ron looked at Harry and lowered his voice, taking on a look of mock-concern, "Are you sure the poor boy's sane?" And they both started laughing. The Dursleys eyed them like a pair of lunatic maniacs. Suddenly Ron turned his attention to the front seat, "Why'd you show up, Sirius, I thought you were with Lupin."  
"I am," Sirius sighed, "I had to talk to Arabella Figg for Dumbledore."   
"Mrs. Figg?" said Harry and Uncle Vernon in shocked unison.   
"Well of course dear," Mrs. Weasley said, "Arabella Figg is one of the most famous aurors in Britain."   
"You're not serious..." Harry started, "She used to sit me..."   
"Well yes," said Mrs. Weasley in her matter-of-fact tone, "She only moved in because of you, Arabella is the wizard Dumbledore had maintain the ward spells on your house."   
"I thought I'd stop by and visit when I was through," Sirius finished.   
"Arabella Figg... is one of you?" Uncle Vernon muttered in amazement.   
"Little slow on the uptake, are we?" Sirius said amiably, as Uncle Vernon scowled.   
  
----  
  
It seemed to take forever and some more for the Ford to chug its way to Ottery St. Catchpole but despite the fact that he had three unwelcome stowaways Harry couldn't help but feel a sense of joy when he saw the Burrow. It was more home to him than Privet Drive could ever be. As he carried the trunk to the door Harry was still smiling at the look of shock on the Dursleys faces when Sirius had suddenly became a large black dog.   
Ginny opened the door, she blushed at the sight of Harry, and then he face dissolved into confusion as the Dursleys tramped in, followed by her mother, brother, and a dog almost as tall as she was.   
"Where is Bill?" Mrs. Weasley asked once they were all inside.   
Ginny shifted her weight from foot to foot, looking reluctant to answer, "He went to talk to Percy again-- oh Mum!! I told him not to... but he wouldn't listen--"   
Mrs. Weasley's pleasant features had dissolved into a lump of iron, she didn't even bother to reply.   
"What's with Percy?" Harry hissed to Ron, but Ginny shrieked before he had a chance to answer.   
"SIRIUS BLACK!!!"   
"Where?" As if on cue, Fred and George half ran, half slid down the stairs, their faces lit with excitement.   
"Ginny-- shhhh-- he's all right--" Ron said.   
"How could you!" she bawled, pointing at him, "You're Harry's friend!"   
"Its ok!" Harry grabbed her, "He's innocent!"   
She blinked at him, furiously fighting back tears, while Uncle Vernon's voice reached a low growl, "What?"   
Harry turned to face him, hopefully looking more brave than he felt, "Sirius is innocent." Uncle Vernon's entire face turned read and Harry could see the anger boiling up inside of him, indignation waiting to burst through ever since the doorbell had rung that morning-- Harry felt a fist connect with his chin and before it registered than he had just been punched, people were swarming in from all sides... as he stood there in a daze of screams and yells-- one voice carried above all of them, and slowly opening his eyes, he hadn't even realized they were shut, Harry saw Mrs. Weasley, pounding Uncle Vernon on the head with a broomstick. "HOW DARE YOU HIT HARRY!" she was roaring," WE JUST SAVED YOUR WORTHLESS LIVES AND YOU REPAY ME-- AS A GUEST IN MY HOUSE-- BY ABUSING--"  
"Good afternoon, Molly," walking through the open door was the last person Harry wanted to see at a time like this, his potions master, Professor Snape.   
Dropping her broom, Mrs. Weasley tried to regain what was left of her shredded hospitality. "Severus welcome-- do come in, you're here early."   
Instead of replying, Snape gave her one of his patronizing smiles, which broke the moment he saw Harry and Ron, "Ah yes... Mr. Potter, taking a break between interviews, no doubt?"   
"You never change, Severus, do you?" Sirius snarled, baring his teeth.   
Snape eyed the gray robes Sirius had been wearing for the past year and a half with distaste, "Nor does it seem... do you."   
The two were staring daggers at each other so Mrs. Weasley grabbed Snape in one arm and Uncle Vernon in the other, "Severus, I don't believe you've met Harry's family. This is his Uncle Vernon, his cousin Dudley, and his Aunt Petunia. Lily's sister- you remember Lily--"  
"Charmed," said Snape dryly, making it very clear that he wasn't charmed in the least.   
"Mr. Dursley, this is Severus Snape-- Harry's potion master at Hogwarts." To Uncle Vernon, Snape looked like his worst idea of a wizard with his aquiline nose, greasy hair, and robes that seemed a chronic black. To Snape Uncle Vernon was related to Harry, and that was more than enough. However Harry knew in the unlikely event of a conversation between the two parties, they just might reach a state of camaraderie on Harry's faults.   
"Hello," Uncle Vernon muttered. Snape gave him one of his you-are-dirt looks that only a Slytherin could perfect.   
Ginny however, could not get over the shock of having so many things happen on less than a minute. Without thinking she turned to Snape, "You know Sirius Black?"   
Giving her a black stare Snape looked to Mrs. Weasley, "I have heard this one too many times, Molly. If you'd excuse me.." and with that he stormed into the living room.   
"Oi," said Ron, "My head hurts."   
"Mine hurts more," Fred muttered, "You know what's going on."   
Harry took a breath, and launched himself into the tale of two years previous in which he had found out that the convicted murderer from Azkaban was his godfather, a man he had grown to know and love.   
  
----  
  
Ron's room was just as Harry had remembered it, outrageously, blatantly orange. He grinned cheekily at him as they heaved Harry's trunk through the too small door.   
"Well," said Ron, "Don't know where we're ever going to fit the Dursleys. Hopefully they won't have to stay in here with us."   
Harry scowled, "That would be fun."  
"I wish Herimone could have come," Ron said with a trace of bitterness.   
"Maybe she's home already," Harry said, desperately trying to cheer up him friend, "we should send Pig to see."   
Ron just shook his head.   
After an uncomfortable silence, Harry tried to change the subject, "Why's Snape here?"   
"I'm not sure, really," Ron said, "Dad quit his job at the ministry to work with Dumbledore against You-Know-Who. I think they're trying to resurrect the old Dark Force Defense League."   
"Your father quit his job?" Harry knew how poor the Weasleys were.   
"Fudge refused to listen to the truth, even after Karkaroff's death, so Dad's working for Dumbledore-- he pays better than the ministry too, "Ron flashed a cheeky grin, "Fudge seems to have taken it upon himself to tear down Dumbledore-- he tried to get the board of governors to remove him as Headmaster-- but thankfully they wouldn't listen. For the last few weeks, all the aurors that support Dumbledore have been meeting at our house."  
"All of them?"  
Ron sighed, "There's not that many."   
Suddenly Harry remembered what he had heard downstairs, "What's all this about Percy?"   
"He... won't listen to reason," Ron drummed his fingers on the orange bedspread-- the only outward sign of tension, :He says you're deranged and Dumbledore's a fool to believe that You-Know-Who is back. Percy won't even see us anymore, says its bad for his career to associate with Dumbledore..." He broke off, staring at the ceiling.   
Harry nodded glumly, it was all his fault. If he had never touched the Triwizard cup in the first place, this would have never happened, Voldemort would never have come back, Cedric would still be alive, and the Weasleys would still have Percy...  
As if he could read Harry's thoughts, Ron gave him a smile, "Don't beat yourself up too badly, Harry, its not your fault."   
Shaking his head, Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out the slip of parchment that had arrived in the mail that morning and unfolding it, he handed it to Ron. "This came in the mail today, from Tom Riddle..."  
Ron's eyes widened as he say what was written on the paper "Harry... Avada Kedavra.... this is really serious, wow, you remember what Moody said--"  
"Yeah," he said, suddenly regretting showing it to Ron. Harry needed advice, not added worry.   
"You should show this to Sirius."  
"Yeah..." Harry felt a sudden qualm, he didn't want to turn to Sirius for everything, he had enough worries of his own... and besides, who knows that Voldemort really sent the note, "Not yet, ok?" He snatched the not from Ron, who began to nervously twist the bedcovers.   
Before Ron could reply, there was a knock on the door and swinging it open, Sirius stepped in. Harry thrust the note back into his pocket quickly, as Ron shot him a quizzical look.   
Sirius smiled, "Am I intruding?"  
Ron shook his head, "No, sit down--" he pointed at his already full twin bed, and somehow, Sirius managed to oblige.   
"To be an ill-mannered house guest," he began, "I'd like to invite you two to Lupin's to stay with us."  
"Really!" Harry grinned, Avada Kedavra forgotten. It had been over a year since he had seen his old Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and any time with Sirius was a godsend in itself.   
"Truly," Sirius answered, "You're Mum's already agreed, Ron. With the Dursleys around she'll need the extra room, I offered to take them too--"  
"Sirius- No!"  
"But your Uncle turned somewhat green and I didn't pursue the subject."   
Ron turned his eyes heavenward, "Praise be."  
Sirius chuckled and stood up, "I'd like to leave tonight after the meeting, mainly so Remus can carry your luggage, so do pack Ron."   
"Sure, Snuffles."  
After rolling his eyes, Sirius walked out.   
"Where does Lupin live?" Harry wondered aloud, a subject he had never considered before.   
"A cave, do you think?" Ron said hopefully.   
"With bats," Harry added.   
"and vampires-- I mean how else does he know so much about Dark creatures?"   
"Better pack some garlic," Harry suggested as they heaved Ron's trunk out from under his bed.   



	4. Crucio and Auror's Meeting

Both of these are short so I decided to stick them together please read and REVIEW (constructive criticism is much appreciated),Crucio really is a stand alone, its about the man that, aside from Lupin, fascinates me the most in these books.... Sejanus is important too, but that will come later, for now enjoy. In the toast you meet Gabriel, who becomes very important... anyway for all you legal gurus...  
DISCLAIMER- Severus and Crouch and Harry and Ron and Lupin and Sirius and Dumbledore... you get the idea, they're all JK's and Gabriel, Livia and Sejanus are their own   
  
THE THIRD CAMP  
CHAPTER IV-- CRUCIO  
  
Sitting in his squashy armchair, Severus stared out at the growing assembly of aurors-- young and old alike, the untried moving among the scarred. For no one, himself included, had escaped this war unscathed. Smiling cynically to himself, he knew that fifteen years ago, he would have never been caught dead in the company he was holding tonight, he would never in his wildest dreams pay court to a man like Albus Dumbledore...  
  
April 28, 1979  
  
...Severus Snape had never known his father, and yet... he treasured his memory more than any man dead or alive.   
The elder Snape was a noble man, noble in the legacy of Salzar Slytherin-- he devoted his life to his work as an "anti-auror), searching out those who dared challenge the doctrine laid down by the most farseeing of the four founders of Hogwarts. After lobbying the Ministry of Magic for a bill limiting Muggle rights (and through them, Muggle borns) he was identified by the so called "Tolerance Movement" of wizards as a threat to their precious stability, a stability built wholly on their contaminated blood.   
There were orders to simply question Snape-- make sure he was still loyal to the all-knowing ministry, but Barty Crouch found him first. Crouch tortured him, with the Cruciatus curse, over and over... with the agonizing pain, trying to get him to confess his involvement in a coup on the Ministry. Snape had died that night, a martyr for his beliefs. There was a mock inquiry, but Crouch got off with a small fine... it almost seemed like the ministry had wanted him dead...  
Severus had never forgotten his father. It was for his father that he had eaten up every bit of dark knowledge he could find, for his father that he had done everything in his power to honor Slytherin, for his father that he had received the brand, entered into the brotherhood... joined the Death Eaters.   
Severus had never found it in his heart to like the second Barty Crouch, death eater though he was-- even more zealous the Severus himself, but as they traipsed through the tiny town of Wycham, he couldn't help but admire the man. Masked behind the seemingly innocent exterior of a naive eighteen-year-old boy was a feral animal, unable to hold back against the call of his bloodlust. Severus had seen the way Crouch's eyes gleamed whenever he killed someone, he had seen the look of absolute power he had when standing over a weeping victim. In all terms of the word, Crouch was a sadist-- and he channeled that desire for one man alone... Lord Voldemort.   
The brisk spring air quailed as Crouch stopped abruptly, sniffing the air like a beast of prey, "This is it, Severus," He smiled, a mad glint in his eye. The tiny home they had stopped in front of seemed hardly suited to be the sight of a murder, and murder it would become if Livia didn't give them what they needed. The bright little windows winked genially at them, the white picket fence-- geraniums, bright red even in the dark of night, seemed to perfect, to serene. Walking up to the doorstep, Crouch stepped into the dim light of the porch, Severus in his wake... he rang the doorbell... ding dong...  
...a clicking of high heels... the sound of an opening door... a woman's bright smile...   
"Barty, Severus, come in!" Feeling a wave of adrenaline and supreme power, Snape stepped through the doorjam, Livia had walked right into their trap. He heard crouch lock the deadbolt, a scrape of steel upon steel... Livia stared at their black robes, their pale faces, the maniac grin spread across Crouch's face, and slowly, slowly, comprehension began to grow. "Get away from me..."  
Crouch spoke in a low voice, threatening, the voice of a predator speaking to its prey, "Who killed Sejanus, Livia?"   
Her face showed confusion, "What? He's in Azkaban..."  
"He is also dead, Livia," he rolled her name off his tongue like an expletive.   
"With a knife through his back," Severus said, drawing closer to the frightened woman.   
"Who killed Sejanus?" Crouch sneered, "Answer me! Crucio!"  
A look of raw terror passed through Livia's eyes as she began to scream, "I DON'T KNOW! I DON'T KNOW!"   
"CRUCIO!" Crouch roared again, and this time Livia fell to the floor, twitching, moaning, writing in a sadistic dance of pure untapped agony. Her mouth opened, and out of it came an unearthly shriek expressing pain never meant to have been felt by a human being...  
And then, Severus saw it. He saw his father in Livia, in the shaking screaming form, he saw the last moments of the man he devoted his life too, the man who had sent him onto this road of hate. He felt the pain, felt the agony, felt the guilt...  
"Stop!" he cried, his voice forming the words as his mind wrenched with pain...  
Crouch lowered his wand, looking at Severus with a scornful expression, "Stop?" he said, making the word a blow, an insult...  
"She doesn't know..." Severus murmured, fishing desperately, his mind impeded by the blistering shouts of agony that had just been carved into his psyche forever, "We'll get nothing here."  
Crouch looked at him and nodded, "Avada Kedavra," there was a flash of green light, and a whistling of wind, and Livia was lying there, on the floor... her panicked eyes sightless and blank, her screams still echoing in the cozy living room.   
The next day, Severus had gone to Dumbledore.   
  
----  
  
THE THIRD CAMP  
CHAPTER V-- AURORS MEETING  
  
Fred and George's room seemed extra-small as Harry, Ron, Ginny, and the twins tried to find some way to coexist in the cramped space. Strictly forbidden from coming downstairs by Mrs. Weasley, the five of them were trying to listen to the Aurors meeting downstairs through the air vent, so far the only distinguishable thing was chatter.   
"Ow Fred, that was my foot!"  
"Come on Ginny... scoot!"  
"I don't have any room!"  
"This isn't going to work," said Harry grinning as the five of them all tried to stick their ears into a six inch vent.   
"You just figured that out..." Fred sat up, rubbing his head.   
"Shhh!" George hissed, "Come on, they're starting!"   
Kneeling down again, Harry could hear the ring of a voice-- unmistakably Dumbledore. "My friends-- thank you for coming on such short notice. In times like these, when it seems the world is falling apart from inside, the only chance of survival is banded together as a community, rather than individuals. That is why I called this meeting. I want to introduce-- er-- re-introduce an old friend, Sirius?"  
There was a collective gasp from around the room and the distinctive clink of breaking china, in which Harry supposed Sirius revealed himself from wherever he had been hiding. A low growl sounded from below them, "What game are you playing at, Dumbledore?"  
"I am not playing any games," the old man's tone was level, "we cannot afford to loose them."   
"I would rather have died than hurt Lily or James, you all know that," Sirius said.   
"We did know that Black," a voice said, "But you betrayed our trust in you. No offense meant to you sir-- but Dumbledore never wanted to believe that you were guilty. He could never see you for the scum that you are." With a start, Harry realized the man speaking was Mad-Eye Moody.   
"It was Pettigrew..." Sirius began, but his voice was toneless and dead, the voice of the prisoner from Azkaban.   
Moody just laughed.   
"It's true," Snape's cold snarl cut Moody's scorn short. "All of you know how... fond... Mr. Black and I are of each other. and you know undoubtedly realize how I jump at the opportunity to lie on his behalf. Sirius is innocent." Harry felt a wave of shock pass over him... Snape of all people, backing up Sirius?   
There was a sudden silence in the room, a silence where the tension was strung so tightly it was palpable. "Thank you," said Sirius suddenly, his words stepping over an eternity of enmity and hate, and towards a man he had never paused to know.   
No one seemed to want to break the moment, Harry could feel Dumbledore's smile radiating upwards through the vent... but finally necessity came to light, and a hoarse voice Harry hadn't heard for more than a year broke the hush, :It was Peter Pettigrew, Lily and James changed secret keepers at the last moment..." and so Professor Lupin began the story that had changed Harry's life, the story that proved to him that he wasn't alone in the world, that he had Sirius, his godfather, his guardian, his friend.   
Silence reigned once again when Lupin finished, silence broken suddenly by the voice of Professor McGonagall, "Fudge must be told."   
"Fudge was told," Lupin said, "He didn't listen."   
A new voice spoke up, "Publish it in the Daily Prophet, along with the events at the Triwizard Cup. If Fudge bends to anything, its public opinion."   
"What d'you want t'do?" a musical Scottish accent exclaimed indignantly, "Cause wide scale panic?"   
"And what about the Diggorys?" Mrs. Weasley of course, "They'd have to relive the whole tragedy."   
"A Prophet story would... revolutionize the entire situation!" the voice exclaimed, "There wouldn't be three different camps anymore, us, Voldemort, and the Ministry... there'd only be two... us and Voldemort--"  
Moody cut in cynically, "And how would your story do this?"  
"People would question authority," the voice was excited, the tone of one who had just undergone epiphany, "They would begin to think for themselves and not allow Fudge to tell them what to believe, and then, if the rest of the country knew the truth... he'd have to face up to it!"   
"Or pass it off as tabloid journalism," said Snape, with the trace of a sneer in his voice.   
"Perhaps," the voice assented, "But the truth would still be known, and what harm could it do?"   
"Harm to a grieving family, Gabriel," Lupin said softly.   
The voice-- Gabriel-- fell silent.   
Dumbledore cleared his throat, "Aurors, friends, thank you. In all my years against Voldemort, I could not have asked for a better crew to man this vessel we are about to sail into the eye of a storm. Is it strong enough? Is it big enough? All these questions are irrelevant now, all we can do is hope, and fight, to reach the other side alive." He paused slightly, "Well, enough of stuffy old metaphors... a toast-- to Sirius!"  
Twenty voices united into one as wine glasses were raised, "To Sirius!"  



	5. The Dog Star

THE THIRD CAMP  
CHAPTER VI-- THE DOG STAR  
  
Harry was folding and unfolding Riddle's "note" when he realized that Ron was looking over his shoulder.   
  
"Just do it, Harry," he said.   
  
"Do what?" Harry asked.   
  
"Show Sirius the note, don't be so independent, you'll end up killing yourself," he sighed.   
  
Harry gave Ron a grin, "You sound like your mother."   
  
"Heaven forbid," he gave Harry a mortified look. "Go downstairs."   
  
"Now?"  
  
"They're just talking," Ron shrugged.   
  
"Ok," Harry nodded, "Come with me."  
  
Ron raised an eyebrow, "You think I would stay up here?"  
  
----  
  
They took the stairs two at a time, searching the packed room for the mop of black hair that was Sirius. As they reached the bottom of the stairs, Harry almost tripped over Mad-Eye Moody. There was noting more disturbing than getting a blank look from a man he had "known" for a year.   
  
"D'you see him?" Harry hissed to Ron.   
  
"No."   
It was impossible to move in the clutter of bodies, all holding wine glasses and chatting intently. A few turned to look at Harry and Ron as they jostled past them, and more outright gaped at Harry's scar, but he was far to used to that to care. A man he had never seen before grabbed Harry by the arm, "Could you tell me your name, please?"   
  
"Harry Potter," Harry said as quietly as possible.   
  
"See, I told you!" The man smiled delightedly at his wife, a wisp of a witch in a gauzy yellow dress. Harry hated it when people talked of him like he was some sort of pet, "Is it true that you're a Parselmouth?"  
  
"Yes," Harry said shortly, "Have you seen Sirius Black?"   
  
"Er...no..." the man began.   
  
"Sorry, I'm looking for him... urgent--" Harry managed a thin smile before twisting out of his arm, to find Ron, standing there with a smirk on his face.   
  
"Harry, can I touch your hand please, oh Harry--" he began.   
  
"Don't start," Harry rolled his eyes.   
  
"Ron! Harry!" Considering the merits of an invisibility cloak, Harry wheeled around to be faced with Professor Lupin.   
  
"Professor Lupin!" He grinned.   
  
"Hello," Ron said and for the first time Harry realized how tall he was. Lupin was shorter than his friend by a good three inches, something he hadn't noticed when he saw him last.   
  
"You've shrunk," Harry said, amazed.   
  
"Good to see you too," Lupin was smirking in a way reminiscent of Sirius. "And I think you've grown, Ron at least." Lupin stared at Harry as though trying to find words for his feelings, "It's been a while."   
  
"Yeah," Harry shrugged, "A lot has happened."  
  
"Sirius told me what you did, Harry," he shook his head slightly, "James would have been proud."   
  
The mention of Sirius reminded Harry of why he was here... and the note. "Professor Lupin," he began out of habit, and then realizing that Lupin wasn't a professor anymore, was unsure of how to continue.   
  
"Remus, Harry," he said with a slight smile.   
  
"...Remus, I got a note today from Tom Riddle," he handed Lupin the much folded scrap that seemed to add a whole other dimension to his world of worry.   
  
Lupin looked up from the paper, "Have you shown Dumbledore?"  
  
"No one but me and Ron and you."  
  
Lupin nodded, "He should see this." Holding the paper, he began to make his way through the crowd, clearing a path more effectively than Harry or Ron had managed, he supposed it came with practice. When they finally reached Dumbledore, sitting in front of the fireplace, they found him wrapped up in conversation with a man Harry had never seen before. He had black hair, gelled up into inch long spikes and tawny eyes, brown streaked with gold.   
  
"Though I admit you know Cornelius better than I ever could..." Dumbledore was cut off when the man, sensing their presence, cleared him throat.   
  
Turning around, Dumbledore smiled at the sight of Lupin, and more broadly though not surprised in the least, at Ron and Harry. "Harry, Ron," he said, drawing them closer with his arm, "I want you to meet Gabriel Cox."   
  
"Hallo," Gabriel smiled at them and Harry realized this was the man who had been lobbying so hard for an article in the Daily Prophet, "Ron Weasley and Harry Potter I presume?"   
  
"Yeah," Ron grinned broadly, pleased that, for once, someone recognized him.   
  
"I know your brother Bill," Gabriel said.   
  
"D'you work at Gringotts?" Ron asked.   
  
"No, I'm a reporter for the Prophet. I knew Bill at Hogwarts."   
  
"Albus..." smiling apologetically at Gabriel, Lupin gripped Dumbledore's arm, "Harry got this in the mail today, postmarked under Tom Riddle." A flicker of dismay passed over Gabriel's face like a wraith.   
Dumbledore took the letter, and looked at it slowly, his laugh wrinkles hardening into a frown.   
  
"Sirius tells me the boys are going with you, Remus," Dumbledore said curtly.   
  
"Yes," Lupin replied.   
  
"You have ward spells on your home?"  
  
"Three."   
  
Dumbledore nodded gently, a smile curling over the edge of his beard, "Then I have no objection in letting them go. I believe it is a petty threat, Voldemort cannot touch Harry and I plan to keep it that way."   
  
"What is this?" Sirius sauntered up, a wry smile lighting his gaunt features.   
  
Gabriel passed the note to Sirius, "Avada Kedavra."   
  
"Where did you get this?" Sirius's voice sounded more like a growl than an actual human expression.   
  
"Voldemort sent it to Harry," Dumbledore said, his calm all the more unnerving.   
  
A look of bitterness passed over Sirius's features. "God damn..." he muttered, and then slowly-- ferocity building with each heartbeat began to rip the note up into little pieces, crumpling them in his hand, as if he was trying to suffocate the very paper. With an anguished roar he threw them into the fire, watching maniacally as the flames licked the tiny pieces of paper as it burned away... into nothingness. For the first time in his life, Harry saw why people had believed Sirius capable of murder. Slowly, he looked up at Harry, reached out and grabbed his arm, gripping it so tight that it hurt. "He will never hurt you, Harry, as long as I live. Never." Letting go of his arm as abruptly as he had grabbed it, Sirius collapsed into an armchair, his head in his hands. Lupin turned to them, his face gray, "Ron-- Harry, go get your things..." they turned and left without another word.   
  
"I can't stay in here..." Sirius muttered, "...heat..."  
  
----  
  
When Remus had gone outside, he found Sirius standing next to the wall, wordlessly staring up at the sky.   
"Sirius--" With an animal roar, he grabbed a flowerpot and threw it against the wall. It broke, dirt, clay, and crushed daisy flew through the air. "Sirius, please--"  
  
"That bastard!" He yelled, "Why? Why the hell does he do this?"   
  
Remus looked at him, "He's sick."   
  
"Hasn't he done enough?" Sirius yelled suddenly, hitting the wall with his fist, "Hasn't he killed enough Potters already? Hasn't he wrecked our lives once? Why the bloody encore? Damn it!" He pounded the wall again, "God damnit..."   
  
Remus walked over and caught Sirius's arm in midswing, he tried to twist away, but Remus held him fast, pulling him away from the brick wall, "We won't let him."   
  
"We won't let him?" Sirius gave into a sudden emotion, neither laughter or crying, but a mixture of both. "You know what Sirius is, Remus?" He said suddenly, looking up at the night sky.   
  
"The dog star," Remus said quietly.   
  
"Appropriate isn't it?" Sirius gave a hollow sounding laugh, "You were always the best of us, you know that? You with your constant moralizing and compassion." He paused for a second, "Never though you'd hear me say that, eh? I'm so much more of a monster than you ever were... are. That's why Sirius is appropriate, I'm a dog, I'm the animal." He shook his head bitterly, "Who am I fooling, if he came for Harry I would be powerless... I would have no chance. I couldn't save James, I can't save Harry..."  
  
"Sirius is also the brightest star in the sky, Padfoot," Remus said, gripping his hand, "Without you, Harry had no one. You can't give up on yourself."   
  
For the longest moment, Sirius just stared at the sky, "What would Snape do if he saw me crying?"   
  
"Nothing," said Remus, pulling out a handkerchief and handing it to Sirius, "I'd have ripped his tongue out before he could gloat."   
  
"You're too good to me, Remus," Sirius said with the trace of a smile.   
  
"You're too hard on yourself," Remus replied. "Now come on, you have a very worried godson to attend to."   



	6. Sutra

THE THIRD CAMP  
CHAPTER VII-- SUTRA  
  
The small brick house was on the left side of a tiny lane running parallel to the flow of the River Exe. Its black iron fence was freshly painted and the tiny walk up to the red painted door was lined with flowers. In fact, 12 Rivermede Road was so blisteringly normal that Harry felt rather disappointed; he had expected more from Remus Lupin.   
  
Last night had all been a blur... the long slow drive from Ottery St. Catchpole to Exeter... finally arriving at the house at 2 AM... going to sleep...   
  
A blast of light hit his face, peeling one eyelid open, Harry rolled over trying to avoid the bright indignation, "Rise and Shine!" he heard from above him as he unsuccessfully tried to turn over and stuff a pillow on top of his head. The pillow was snatched away by stronger, more awake, hands and he was forced to peel open the other eyelid and greet his tormentor.   
  
"Sirius..." Harry muttered, sitting up reluctantly. This was not the life with his godfather he had dreamed about. "What time is it?"   
  
"Five thirty-- now get up."   
  
Harry yawned, "Why?" but it was too late, after opening his eyes there was no way he could go back to sleep.   
  
"You're up aren't you?" Sirius grinned. "And you don't want to miss breakfast?"   
  
"No." Harry sighed, rather reluctantly swinging his feet over the side of the bed. "But why five-thirty, its so early..."   
  
"I have to start being a responsible parent sometime," Sirius gave him a grin that made it clear he intended nothing of the sort, "Remus doesn't like these mornings either, but since my culinary ability extends to fishsticks and burnt toast he has to make my breakfast." By this time they were halfway down the stairs, "Its actually go for him, he could sleep forever. Right, Remus?"   
  
"What?" sounded the reply from what had to be the kitchen.   
  
"You could sleep forever," Sirius repeated, opening the door to find a very droopy eyed Lupin pouring milk into four bowls of cereal, while Ron sat on top of the kitchen table.   
  
Lupin sat down the milk jug, his eyes taking a faraway expression, "I remember the days when I got enough sleep, days before certain house guests needed me to pour their cereal in the wee hours of the morning..."  
  
Harry slid on top of the table beside Ron. who was watching the playful dogfight with much zest. "You never would have thought they were like this," he said, "from the Shrieking Shack."   
  
"Well there wasn't much opportunity..." Harry pointed out as he took a bowl of cereal from Lupin's hands.   
  
"Thanks Professor," Ron said through a yawn.   
  
Seating himself on top of the stove, Sirius shook his head. "Who'd have ever thought that you would have been a Professor? Snape I can see... but one of the Marauders? Heaven forbid."   
  
"All we need now," said Lupin with a slight smile, "Is for Dumbledore to offer you the Dark Arts post."  
  
"I think I'd skip that class," said Sirius between bites of cereal.   
  
The thought having just occurred to him, Harry looked at Sirius, "What do you do all day?"   
  
"Lay low," he sighed, "Never escape from prison, boys, for the sheer sake that being in hiding is one of the most boring things on earth. Occasionally Dumbledore sends me an owl to talk to someone, but I still am the Ministry's most wanted man. Most of the time I go into work with Remus."   
  
"Where do you work?"   
  
"Soon to be worked," Lupin shrugged, "Its a Muggle place, I had to give six weeks from the time I turned in my resignation to when I could leave."   
  
"Its a neat little shop," Sirius said.   
  
"Sutra, it was the closest I could find to anything magical.." Lupin remarked absentmindedly staring down at his cereal bowl. The silence filled a few beats before he continued, "Why don't we all go in today-- I can't leave you two alone," his eyes gave a slight twinkle, "especially with Sirius..."  
  
----  
  
Sutra was a tiny shop squeezed in between a pricey French restaurant and a classic British pub. The pink beaded curtain hanging on the door gave was toy a room so drenched with the stench of incense that it reminded Harry of his divination classroom. Sirius bounded in, to be caught in the arms of a waiting woman, who began scratching his head, "Oh you are such a cute mutt, Snuffles, yes you are-- Remus this is absolutely the most adorable dog I have ever met- yes you are, you know you are," she rubbed Sirius's head as he wagged his tail, obviously enjoying the attention. Standing up, she looked at Remus, "You're late."   
  
"I am well aware of that," he said pulling off his coat.  
  
"Not that it matters," said the woman petting Sirius as she blew a bubble of gum, "The shop hasn't even opened yet..."   
  
Lupin turned to her, "I have company. Maureen, this is Harry and Ron. Harry and Ron, this is Maureen."   
  
Completely non-plussed Maureen stared down at Harry, "Is that for real?" she finally asked, pointing at his scar.   
  
"Er... yes..." Harry said.   
  
"Damn, I want it!" said Maureen, "It's really cool, I should have cut my head open when I was in my goth stage." Harry on the other hand thought that Maureen had little need of a lightening scar. Her hair was a bright pink, which was gelled into spikes that rather gave her the look of a cotton candy porcupine. Every single inch of pierceable skin held an earring, even her tongue, which had a stud through it that wobbled when she talked. "Some old bloke's been looking for you, Remus. White hair, weird robes..."   
  
"Dumbledore?" Lupin asked, his face darkening.   
  
"Dunno," Maureen walked behind the counter "He didn't leave a name."   
  
Lupin shrugged, "Why don't you two take a look around, I don't think I'll be long."   
  
Sutra was full of incense, candles, little Asian figurines and books on subjects that would send Sibyl Trelawney into seventh heaven. Taking refuge behind one of those shelves, Harry and Ron were beginning to smirk at the titles.   
  
"The Gatuma Buddha: Five Noble Paths to Enlightenment..."  
  
"The Past Life Reincarnations of Edgar Cayce..."   
  
"Extra Sensory Perception: The Secret to Expanding Your Inner Eye, better send that one to Professor Trelawney, hmm?"   
  
"Oh look at this one, Phisgomancy: Friend or Foe? Test your friends and determine your enemies by the shake of their head."   
  
"This I have to see," Ron sniggered as he pulled out the book, on which's cover was a picture of the human head-- divided into little quadrants each labeled with a different trait. Turning to the first page, Ron's smirk grew, "Phisgomancy," he began in a pompous mocking tone, "Is the ancient study of the human head. Held in the shape of the skull are all the mysteries of the soul, bare to the world for those that can read them. Phisgomany has changed the cource of history..." Harry's snickers were cut short by the ringing of a bell, someone had finally entered the shop. Through the bookshelf they could see the black robes of a wizard.   
  
"Where is Lupin?" The cold patronizing drawl was followed by a growl from Sirius.   
  
"I'll get him for you," Maureen said flatly, "You can wait while I do, Mr...?"  
  
"That is not important," the man snapped and almost immediately Harry recognized him as Lucius Malfoy. At Ron's black look he knew he wasn't the only one to put two and two together.   
  
"There's no need to get me, I'm here--" Lupin's feet walked into view from a storeroom. If he was surprised to see Malfoy, his voice showed no hint of it. "What can I do for you, Lucius?"   
  
"I don't recall us being on first name terms," Malfoy's voice lashed out, dripping patronism.   
  
"Mr. Malfoy then," said Lupin with the slightest touch of sarcasm.   
  
Malfoy took a step nearer to Lupin, "Where is the boy?"   
  
"I beg your pardon?"   
  
"The boy, Lupin. Harry Potter. I know Dumbledore has contacted you, I know you know his whereabouts. Don't lie to me."   
  
"I haven't heard of him for two years," Lupin said amiably unconcerned. "Knowing as much as you do I'm surprised you don't know that."   
  
"Don't play games with me, Lupin."   
  
"I honestly don't know, Mr. Malfoy."   
  
The haughty drawl became even more threatening, "I think you do. I really think you do, you worthless piece of werewolf filth."  
  
Harry could hear Maureen's laugh, but it was the only sound in the entire shop. Finally Lupin spoke, his voice barely audible, but its quiet anger all the more terrible than any of Malfoy's threats. "You have been waiting to say that all day haven't you, Mr. Malfoy? I want you to get out of this shop, now."  
  
The cold voice snickered, "You're fighting a loosing battle, Lassie, with only old doddering men at your head. You're really going to regret this one day, you are really going to regret this."   
  
"No Malfoy, it's you who will be regretting--" Maureen screamed as Sirius stepped out from behind the counter.   
  
"Black--" Malfoy gave a sneer, "Say hello to the dementors for me, maybe even give them a little kiss--"   
  
With a roar, Sirius made as if o throw himself at Malfoy, but Lupin grabbed his arm. "Sirius, he's not worth your time."   
  
"I want you to know-" Sirius yelled, "That if you ever come near Remus or Harry or any of us again, I will kill you! Get out! Get the hell out!"   
  
"The Dark Lord sends his greetings, Potter!" Malfoy yelled, dissapperating as Sirius's fist hit empty air.   
  
"Wow," said Maureen slowly, "That was so amazing!"   
  
Ignoring her, Lupin was muttering something to Sirius, who stood stock still, trembling with anger.   
  
"Professor Lupin?" said Harry stepping out from behind the bookshelf with Ron. Lupin looked at him, his face as gray and gaunt as it was the day after the full moon. "I never thought they would move that quickly. I have no doubt Malfoy will be back."   
  
"Let me go..." Harry said, "He just wants me, if I leave--"  
  
"Don't be stupid, Harry," Ron said.   
  
"Dumbledore," Sirius said hollowly. "Dumbeldore's the only way."   
  
"I'm sorry Maureen," Lupin gave her a smile, "But I doubt you'll ever see me again."   
  
Maureen nodded dumbly, her face still in a state of shock, "You guys are so cool..." she said in a tone of worship.   
  
"In a manner of speaking," Lupin sighed as they ran out the door, hopefully towards safety.   
  
----  
  
"What the hell?"   
  
12 Rivermede Road was no longer the picture of suburban serenity. Squeezed into the front lawn was the largest group of wizards imaginable, all pounding on the front door, unable to accept that the house was empty.   
  
"What the hell is going on?" Sirius made as if to walk right into the fray, but Remus grabbed his arm, "Just wait a minute--"  
  
"Harry! Ron!" Running towards them out of the crowd was a bushy haired smiling someone they hadn't seen since they left the Hogwarts Express.   
  
"Herimone!" Ron's smile stretched all the way across his face. "What are you doing here?"  
  
"Trying to varn you," Ron's smile dimmed somewhat as the Bulgarian National Seeker strode out of the crowd of wizards and stopped at Herimone's side. Viktor Krum was carrying what looked like a very battered broomstick and a newspaper.   
  
"They're all reporters!" Herimone said hurriedly, gesturing at the front lawn, "Sirius, you have to get out of here."   
  
  



	7. Two Days Previous and on the Other Side ...

no notes on the last two stories so I thought I'd make this one nice and long, first to get it over with JKR owns everything, secondly im glad you like it all the reviews have been muchly appreciated, along with the constructive critism (please keep that coming, it helps so much) so any suggestions that you have are great, leave them as reviews or email me. Hope you like it :O)  
  
THE THIRD CAMP  
CHAPTER VIII-- TWO DAYS PREVIOUS AND ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WORLD  
  
Two days previous and on the other side of the world, Viktor Krum was polishing his broomstick. It had never carried two before, but for an Quiddich World Cup quality broom, that seemed like a small feat. He had been planning it for weeks, a picnic in the mountains surrounding Drumstang, away from his parents, the village, the quiddich team, him and Hermione alone.   
  
Alone was all he wanted to be with Hermione but, in the two weeks since she had arrived in Bulgaria, she had overtaken Viktor's usual role as village celebrity. Most of the villagers had never met a foreigner before and Herimone was accepted with open arms, accepted in truth meaning they never let her out of their sight.   
  
"Well?" he heard a voice behind him and wheeling around Viktor knew he couldn't wipe the rare smile off his face.   
  
"Herm-oh-ninny!"   
  
"Her-my-oh-nee, oh never mind," her face broke into a smile to rival Viktor's.   
  
Viktor swung the basket if food over his back, "Are you ready?"   
  
She gave him a sly grin, "Of course." Sliding onto the broomstick Viktor felt her hands wrap around him waist. He smiled to himself as they kicked off into the crisp Bulgarian air, as the current star of the Quiddich world scene, he could have had any girl he wanted, but he was lucky, he had already found her.   
  
----  
  
The broom ride was not as idyllic as Viktor had planned, thought the broomstick flew like a charm. Herimone was unused to riding, and putting a damper on the situation, it had stated to rain. They landed under a tree just as the first crack of lightening split the sky. Hermione sat, blue-lipped and shivering, huddled against the trunk of a great pine. "Here," Viktor peeled off his jacket and passed it to her, "I am very sorry this is not vorking..."   
  
"Oh Viktor," she gave one of her heartwarming smiles, "It's perfect. I like the rain even, in England we get it all the time."   
  
"Incidio," Viktor muttered lazily, and a nearby log burst into flames. "At least ve are varm."   
  
"We'll just ride it out," Herimone shrugged sitting down beside him, looking out over the valley. "Is   
  
Drumstang down there-- sorry, I forgot you weren't supposed to say..."   
  
"No it's all right," he said, "Its over there, on that mountain top, you can't see it from here the clouds are bewitched to hide the peak--"  
  
"D'you like it?" she caught his hand, which was resting on the log. and shyly twined her fingers through his.   
  
"Not as much as Hogwarts," he shrugged noncommittally, trying to suppress the urged to smile.   
  
"You should come to England," she gave him a smile, "More regularly, I mean--"   
  
"I have Quiddich here."   
  
"Honestly!" she rolled her eyes, "You men and Quiddich!"   
  
"Vat?" Viktor pulled away slightly, "You do not like it?'   
  
"No I like it just fine, its only-- oh no--"   
  
Viktor looked at her in alarm, "Vat is it? Did I do something--"   
  
"No," her eyes were wide with unmistakable fear, "look!" Swirling above the clouds on the summit   
that was home to Drumstang was a figure made out of smoke, smoke refusing to dissipate in the pelting shields of rain and blinding flashed of lightening. High above Drumstang circled the Dark Mark. Viktor's immediate thought was Herimone, "You have to get out of here--"   
  
"Dumbledore," she said.   
  
"Vat?"   
  
"Professor Dumbledore, we have to tell him--"   
  
"My owl is delivering a letter to Rolad--" Viktor shook his head.   
  
"We have to go!" She looked at him, her brown eyes pleading, "It's the only way!"   
  
"How?" Viktor shook his head, "You cannot apperate to England!"   
  
Hermione fell silent for a few seconds, obviously thinking hard, "Your broom," she said finally.   
  
"Vat? No!"   
  
" Its international quality, isn't it-- and if we added a charm to increase its speed, and one for invisibility, yes! We're not in England so the underage wizardry laws don't apply, and not that it matters for you anyway, and oh I'm just babbling, but--"   
  
Viktor stared at her, "You vant me to fly my broom, vith you on it, to Hogwarts?"   
  
She stared back up at the sky, "Its the Dark Mark, Viktor. We have to stop him before he starts."   
  
Viktor looked at his broom and saw an image he had tried to block from his mind all summer, Cedric in the throws of the Cruciatus Curse, his voice howling with pain, his eyes wide with shock.... and then, hours later, Cedric's body, dead...   
  
He looked back up at the Dark Mark, but he had already made his decision.  
  
----  
  
The countrysides of Serbia, Slovenia, and Yugoslavia passed under them, growing into the forested hills of Hungary and Austria's great Alps. They had to stop once in Munich for food-- theirs was thoroughly waterlogged through and through-- before spending the night outside Zurich. The scenery was beautiful and the company... Viktor could have flown to Jamaica if Hermione was holding onto his waist. Viktor only began to regret his choice on the evening of the second day, they had just passed over Le Harve and were flying over the English Channel when the storm hit.   
  
Storms at sea were bad enough, but storms at sea, while riding through the air on a broomstick were in another league altogether.   
  
"Viktor!" Hermione yelled, her voice whipped away as soon as it reached his ears by the swirling winds and crashing thunder. It was impossible to see, the rain fell in pelting sheets, soaking them both and chilling them to the bone. The wind kept blowing the broom off course. The only time anything was visible was when lightening, in its red hot bolts of fire arched across the sky.   
  
"Vat?" He tried to respond but it was hopeless trying to speak, the sounds of the wind and the thunder drowned out all other noise but nature's fury... except one...  
  
Turning his head around at the unfamiliar noise, Viktor Krum almost fell off his broom. Behind his was one of the Muggle propeller planes heading right towards them. The pilots couldn't see them, due to the invisibility charm he had placed on the broom, but they could damn well feel them when they hit. Krum didn't know the survival rates for those who collided head on with planes, but he doubted it was very high. There was only one thing he could do. As if sensing his thoughts, Hermione's hands tightened about his waist. As the propeller's noise got louder and louder, Viktor fought to hold the broom steady, imagining a glimmer of gold on the angry waves below, and then-- he just dived.   
  
The rain and wind and everything simply faded away as Viktor felt the air rush by him-- felt the wave of   
adrenaline that hit him every time he mounted a broomstick, he was on top of the world-- not diving towards hell. The crowds roared-- he saw the snitch before him, lifted his hand off the broomstick, extended his arm...  
  
...and caught a fistful of leaves. They must have been closer to land than he had judged. Hermione's screams filled his ears as, for the first time in his life, Viktor lost control of the broomstick, they flew mindlessly through the forest, hitting branches, spraying leaves, while the storm's fury rocked the air above them, Viktor reached in his jacket for his wand, anything-- there, he had it! He remembered thrusting both arms forward as the ground sped up beneath him, and became the only thing he saw.   
  
----  
  
Black.   
  
"Welcome to the Knight Bus, the affordable transport for any stranded with or wizard. I'm Stan, I'll be your conductor tonight--"   
  
Viktor blinked, and opened his eyes as it all washed back to him, along with the aches and pains. The Dark Mark... the storm... Hermione...   
  
To his relief he found her sitting a few paces from him, looking dazed but relatively unhurt.   
  
"You're bleeding," he reached out and touched her cheek, which had been cut open by a passing tree limb.   
  
"I'm fine," she smiled wryly, "So much for the broomstick."   
  
"Blimey! It's Viktor Krum!" said a voice from above him, and for the first time Viktor realized they were being watched. "Ernie-- come here, you have to see this! This is better than Neville, this is! It's Viktor Krum!"   
  
"Vho are you?" Viktor muttered, surprised.   
  
"I'm Stan Shunpike, the conductor here at the Knight Bus, but I play Quiddich too-- chaser, I saw you, at the World Cup last year--"   
  
"What's all the fuss, eh?" A second head popped out of an outrageously purple bus Viktor had just realized was parked two inched from his head.   
  
"It's Viktor Krum!" Stan yelled, overjoyed.   
  
"Honestly!" Hermione leapt up, glaring at the conductor. "We've just ridden on a broomstick all the way from Bulgaria-- flown through a storm over the English Channel, while being chased by a helicopter and had a two-hundred fall hall through a forest, and all you can talk about are Quiddich matches! We're bleeding! We're hurt! Help us!"   
  
Stan blinked furiously, "Er... sorry--"  
  
Hermione glowered, "How about, er... bandage?"   
  
"Actually miss," said Ernie in a self-important tone, "This is the Knight Bus, we give transport to the stranded witch or wizard. You called us anyway."   
  
"We did?" Hermione asked.   
  
"All you do is extend you wand hand," Stan said.   
  
"I did," Viktor sat up slowly, rubbing his head, "Vhen ve fell... Vhere is my broom?"   
  
"It's still alive," Hermione held up the broomstick which Viktor hadn't even realized she was holding.   
  
"D'you need us or not?" Stan said sulkily, obvious still smarting from Hermione's telling off.   
  
"Can you take us to Hogwarts?" Hermione asked.   
  
"It'll be twenty-one sickles, but for twenty-four you get 'ot chocolate and a toothbrush--"   
  
"Keep your ruddy toothbrush," she snapped as she dug into her pocket for the money.   
  
"Little early to be goin' back to school, miss?" Ernie said as Viktor and Hermione sat down on one of the large brass beds.   
  
"Doesn't 'Arry Potter go to 'Ogwarts?" Stan asked the driver.   
  
"Yep," said Ernie.   
  
Stan turned to Hermione and Viktor, "We had 'Arry Potter on our bus once, sat in the same bed as you   
two, he did."   
  
"What a... privilege," Hermione smiled sardonically.   
  
"And now Viktor Krum! Can I 'ave your autograph?"   
  
"Yes..." Viktor said shortly.   
  
Stan pulled out a quill from his front pocket, "Hey Ernie, gimme your paper--" he grabbed the Daily Prophet and thrust it at Viktor. "Please sign along the top, if you would be so good--"   
  
Hermione took a brief look at the paper and then screamed. Grabbing it out of Viktor's hands, she stared at the front page in utter dismay, "Oh no. She broke her promise!" Reading further Hermione's face began to pale, "I can't believe it, how could she do this?"   
  
"Vat?" said Viktor, as bewildered as Stan and Ernie.   
  
"We're not going to Hogwarts anymore--" Hermione snapped, "12 Rivermede Road, Exeter-- and hurry!"   
  
----  
  
Viktor had to autograph Stan's uniform before he'd let them keep the paper, he let them off-- rather reluctantly-- into a growing crowd of reporters that Hermione had feared she would fins, all clustered around Lupin's home.   
  
"I vish you'd tell me vat's going on," Viktor said to Hermione once the outrageously purple bus had disappeared.   
  
"There's no time," she looked at him, and Viktor felt a pang of regret, in a few minutes he would loose his   
  
Herm-oh-ninny to her friends, teachers, parents, and he would have to wait, once again, for that precious alone. Touching her arm gently Viktor leaned forward, his lips touching hers for just the briefest second. before they met again-- in an instant that could last a lifetime, and even as they broke apart he could see the moment reflected in her eyes, feel it in his, "That was my first kiss," he murmured.   
  
"Me too," she gave him one of the smiles he would die for, "Me too."   



	8. Ink and Paper

THE THIRD CAMP  
CHAPTER IX-- INK AND PAPER  
  
"Mr. Lupin-- I have a few questions to ask you--"   
  
"Mr. Lupin, I'm writing a weekly column on the regulation of dangerous beasts, could you tell our readers a little about being a--"   
  
Getting up the path was a task well within itself, even with Viktor at her back, Hermione felt the undeniable urge to start kicking shins to clear the way.   
  
"Mr. Lupin, what kind of a monster is Sirius Black?"   
  
Suddenly the cry took hold, "Its Harry Potter and Viktor Krum!" suddenly the attention drifted away from Lupin, who was almost ten feet away from the seemingly unattainable goal of the front door, to the fourteen year old boy at his side.   
  
"Harry, how do you feel about--"  
  
"Mr. Krum, I work for Quiddich Today and I was wondering--"   
  
They were almost there, almost, Lupin was on the stoop-- then Hermione saw her, saw her in her moment of glory, smiling at them from the front door.   
  
"You!" Hermione shrieked.  
  
"Hermione Granger, what a pleasant surprise!" Rita Skeeter smiled, showing all of her teeth.   
  
"You lied to me!" Hermione ran past a fuming Ron.   
  
"You are truly naive, little girl, to think I would pass up a story like this one because of a little school yard promise." Rita smiled parentally again, "Live and learn, dear."   
  
"You know it isn't true!"  
  
Ignoring her, Skeeter turned to Harry, who was just about to make a break for the door, "How does it feel to be stalked by a monster like Sirius Black, Harry?"  
  
Harry turned to her, and for the first time in his life felt grateful towards Lucius Malfoy, "I don't recall us being on first name terms, and he's innocent. Can you really believe that Albus Dumbledore is would do what you accuse him of?"   
  
"I don't believe what I write, dear, I sell papers," Skeeter said not bothering to sugar-coat her dislike.   
  
"Lord Voldemort is back!" Harry said so loudly, that heads turned, "Don't you understand? We can't fight among ourselves, that's what he wants!"   
  
"Ve saw him at Drumstang," Viktor said, surprising everyone, "The Dark Mark... over the school."   
  
Lupin unlocked the door, "If you would excuse us--" he said ushering the four of them inside, as the lawn exploded in a buzz of chatter.   
  
----  
  
  
An utter silence rang in the living room of 12 Rivermede Road. No one moved, no one spoke, all just stared blindly ahead, at the paper spread across the living room couch, blaring its headline out like a messenger of doom.   
  
DUMBLEDORE LEADS COUP ON THE MINISTRY  
  
Albus Dumbledore, considered by many as the greatest headmaster Hogwarts has ever seen has finally crossed the line between eccentric behavior and insanity writes Rita Skeeter, Special Corespondent. Shocking evidence, witnessed firsthand by your Daily Prophet reporter shows Dumbledore has been leading a conspiracy against the Ministry of Magic since the end of the Triwizard Tournament. Dumbledore must be stopped in his fevered quest for power before he becomes the next Dark Lord.   
While covering the Triwizard Tournament, this Daily Prophet reporter witnessed Albus Dumbledore conspiring with none other than the infamous Sirius Black. This terror of thirteen years ago has been evading the recapture by the Ministry with the help of Dumbledore. According to David Macnair, a top officer in the Department for the Regulation of Magical Creatures, who was present at Black's shocking escape last year, "Black could have never gotten out on his own, and it is more than unlikely that the Dark Arts were any help to him in a place like Hogwarts. He must have had inside help." This "inside help" turned out to be none other than the much respected Albus Dumbledore.   
Sirius Black is an illegal animagus, a small crime to add to his formidable resume, and has been roaming the country in the form of a large black dog. Currently Black is in residence with another contact of Dumbledore's a Mr. R. J. Lupin of 12 Rivermede Road, Exeter. Lupin, much like Rubeus Hagrid, is another of Dumbledore's questionable decisions in the running of the Hogwarts School. A werewolf, Lupin taught Defense Against the Dark Arts but was forced to resign when his secret came to light. "A man who hires werewolves and half-giants for that matter, is obviously playing some hidden game of his own, and does not have the interests of his school or students at heart," says Rhetor Paedegogus, a former Hogwarts teacher and an expert in the field of elementary education. So what is Dumbledore's hidden game? In their talk, Black and Dumbledore confessed it all; they are planning to lead a coup in the Ministry of Magic to murder our much beloved Minister, Cornelius Fudge. Dumbledore covets the top spot, and once he has it within his grasp, he will extend his web of control until he becomes the next He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Many upstanding (until now) citizens have joined in the plot, Arthur and Molly Weasley, Mudugnous Fletcher, Arabella Figg, Minerva McGonagall, and to the great dismay of this reporter, Harry Potter. A known Parseltounge, Potter's true loyalties may be slowly be coming to light with the discovery of another link to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Their wands share the same core, a core that, as we have all seen is able to perform powerful feats of Dark Magic.   
Through all of this sobering tale only one man has behaved in such a way he may still hold his head high, Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic. When asked to comment on his "friend's" true intentions, Fudge blinked back tears, "Albus and I were on very good terms, until the Triwizard Tournament when he started telling me these addlepated stories of hippogriffs and graveyards." Hippogriffs and graveyards? It sounds like Albus Dumbledore is trying to mask his true intentions. Can we leave a man this power hungry, this deranged as the head of Hogwarts School, as the guardian of our children and the future of out world?  
  
Remus stared up at the ceiling, he had read Skeeter, read her trash on Harry and Hagrid, but he had always seen her as a minor annoyance, never guess she would go as far as to implicate the one man who, so far, had been untouchable in the endless mud slinging of the press. The vendetta on Dumbledore had finally broken. "Incidio," Walking over to his now-burning fireplace, Remus grabbed a jar sitting on the mantle, fishing inside he found a handful of bright blue powder, which he flung into the flames turning them pure white. "Albus, it's Lupin-- a word." There was a whirling of color and sound and suddenly, Albus Dumbledore was stumbling over the flames while Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Viktor gaped.   
  
"Celerity Powder," Dumbledore said calmly, never missing an opportunity to teach, "Allows you to summon someone. Yes, Remus?"   
  
Lupin held up the Daily Prophet, "Have you seen--"   
  
"Most unfortunately," he said, shaking his head. "Though I dare say she'd be delighted, Rita has no idea how much trouble she's causing. This will set us back weeks."   
  
"What about Sirius?" Remus stared at the Daily Prophet, disgusted. "He can't hide anymore."   
  
"I'm afraid we may have to follow Gabriel's suggestion," Dumbledore said.   
  
"What? A Prophet article?" Remus looked incredulous.   
  
Dumbledore sighed, "When in Rome..."   
  
"What about the Diggorys?"   
  
"I have just spoken with Lucy," Dumbledore said, "She agreed."   
  
"Poor Amos," Remus shook his head slowly.   
  
Suddenly there was a crashing noise from the roof and something-- someone-- fell down the chimney and landed in the fireplace with a dull thud, "Sorry--" it said sitting up slowly, apparently unhurt by the white flames.   
  
"Gabriel Cox?" said Remus tilting his head as if he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing.   
  
"Tremendous entrance, eh?" Gabriel stood up, hitting his head on the mantle, "Sorry--" he ducked out leading a trail of soot into Lupin's immaculate living room.   
  
"May I ask what you are doing in my fireplace?" Lupin asked, slightly defensive, but more amused.   
  
"You have some sort of spell, I couldn't apperate in and I sure as hell wasn't going to try the front door.   
So the fireplace was the only other option." He looked to Dumbledore, "I thought you'd be here. Fudge is coming after you, he'll be here in a few minutes."   
  
"He's taking this tabloid trash seriously?" Lupin looked amazed.   
  
"Ink and paper-- the entire history of mankind can be governed by well written tabloid trash, especially if it plays on emotion," Gabriel said in a tone that said he had had this argument many times before.   
  
"I want you to write your article, Gabriel." Dumbledore said gently, a smile playing over his lined face. Harry was amazed suddenly at how old he looked... how old he was. "If what you say is true, I must leave now. Harry, Hermione, Ron and Viktor here can fill in the details you need." Dumbledore turned and looked directly at Harry, "It is the only way." Harry realized he was talking to him, choking back memory-- he nodded. With a slight smile, he was gone.   
  
"I thought you couldn't apperate," Ron said.   
  
"You can't," Lupin sighed. "But you can dissapperate, there's a flaw in the ward I haven't gotten around to fixing." There was a whooshing sound from behind them and without another warning men in hit wizard uniforms began piling out of the fireplace and into the shocked living room. Finally, when all of his bodyguards were in place, a rather disgruntled Cornelius Fudge appeared muttering something about floo powder. Brushing off his robes he glowered, "Where is Dumbledore?"   
  
"Why would Dumbledore be here?" Gabriel managed to sound extremely snide as he stared at the small dumpy minister with obvious dislike.   
  
"What are you doing here?" Fudge said, and from his tone it was easy to discern that Gabriel Cox was the last person he wanted to see in a time like this.   
  
"Exclusive interview with Harry Potter and Viktor Krum, what it is to be a celebrity when you're underage for an apparition license. Absolutely riveting stuff, but nothing to rival the headline today," he said sarcastically.   
  
Fudge bristled, "Don't you start! Rita Skeeter had just turned out a fine piece of investigative journalism!"   
  
"Try investigative imagination," Gabriel took a step towards the Minister. but he was blocked from going any further by the hit wizards. "It's all rot."  
  
"I do admit the animagus detail is... a tad but farfetched, but I always had my doubts about Albus Dumbledore--"   
  
"Always meaning the last twenty-four hours," Gabriel snapped, and Harry felt a wave of admiration, he had never seen anyone speak to the Minister of Magic like this before.   
  
"Now really Gabriel... don't be rash!" Fudge sputtered, turning bright red, "Sometimes I wonder if I shouldn't have--"   
  
"--let Alastor Moody kill you--" Gabriel finished, "I've heard it a thousand times, so think of something new, hmm?"   
  
"You are publicly humiliating me!" Fudge roared, throwing his dignity to the wind.   
  
"Well you are used to public humiliation..." Gabriel sneered.   
  
"Where did you get this?" Fudge turned an even brighter red, "How did you turn out like this-- oh yes, I forget, your father!"   
  
"My father!" Gabriel exploded, "It always boils down to my father with you, doesn't it!"  
  
"He got what he deserved!" Fudge wagged a finger at Gabriel, "As will this man I SHOULD be tracking down!"   
  
"What's keeping you?" Gabriel gestured at the fireplace violently.   
  
"Good-bye, Gabriel-- I am leaving now, You are a waste of my time!" Fudge bellowed.   
  
"Good! Then its mutual, old chap!" he roared back as the party of ministry wizards disappeared.   
  
"Was that wise?" Lupin said, a faint smile of amusement crossing his face.   
  
"Let him try and arrest me," Gabriel said still bristling. "For what? Excessive angst? It would reflect back on him anyway so he wouldn't dare. Besides," he gave Lupin a cheeky grin, "He didn't arrest you, did he? I was the ultimate distraction."   
  
"What did I miss?" said Harry, rather slowly, sitting up.   
  
Gabriel turned to him, a smile of triumph on his face. "He's my Uncle, my guardian actually—but he'd never admit it."   
  
Ron gave a snicker, "Cornelius Fudge is your uncle?"   
  
"I lived with him until I was seventeen," Gabriel shrugged, "That was positively amiable compared to most of our conversations."   
  
"Tea?" asked Lupin, "Since you'll be staying a while…"   
  
"Yes—definitely," Gabriel smiled as he sat down in a particularly squashy armchair.   
  
"Who was your father?" Hermione asked, as he pulled out a notebook and a quill.   
  
Gabriel looked frozen for a moment but it was Lupin who replied, "My Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts, and I'm afraid its your turn to be interviewed," he said gently.   
  
"Right," said Gabriel, "Harry, could you tell me what happened the night you touched the Triwizard Cup?"   
  
Swallowing the images, Harry nodded, took a breath and began to relive the night he would never escape.   
  



	9. The Third Camp

Hey everyone this will be my last fic for a while, im going on a trip to arizona until august 18th, but I promise ill have something written by then. This is the last installment of The Third Camp, hopw you like it please r/r (Suggestions!! Suggestions!!) feel free to email me too, just I wont respond before the 18th... and magical*little*me, Gabriel was in the one where sirius and remus talked about the dog star just briefly. You'll see more of him soon, so anyway hope you enjoy, adieu. PS-Hagrid, thank you so much for the comment about some of my writing being as good as JKR (I don't think so) but it meant a lot to me (I'm 14!)  
  
THE THIRD CAMP  
CHAPTER X-- THE THIRD CAMP  
  
A continuous stream of knocks sounded on the door of the apartment, blending in with the sounds of the ringing alarm clock. The two together achieved what one could not, and Gabriel Cox sat up, sliding out of bed. He was in his robes from the day before and his hands were still coated with ink. Wiping sleep out of his eyes, Gabriel stumbled to the door and threw it open--  
  
"Great, it's you--" he muttered holding the door open as Cornelius Fudge walked into the room purposefully, his mouth tight and angry. The uncomfortable silence turned into a duel, which neither one wanted to break, for fear if giving the other an early advantage.   
  
"What, may I ask," said Fudge after what seemed like an eternity, "Is this?" Unfurling it from under his arm, Fudge brandished the Daily Prophet.   
  
"The truth," Gabriel smiled broadly, "Something sorely lacking in today's world, wouldn't you say?"   
  
" 'Rita Skeeter considered by many as the baddest babe ever to set her pretty little hands to the quill has finally crossed the line between journalism and third-class fiction, writes Special Corespondent Gabriel   
Cox!' What is this nonsense?"  
  
"Since you praised her writing so highly, I just thought I'd paraphrase a few lines here and there."   
Gabriel gave a grin, propping his feet up onto the table, "Tea?"   
  
"This is insane, my own nephew! None of this makes sense!" Fudge was sputtering left and right.   
  
Gabriel yawned, "Have you even read the article?"   
  
"Of course I've read the article--" he snorted.   
  
"Give me the paper--" Gabriel extended his hand, "Give me the paper." When Fudge shook his head,   
  
Gabriel grabbed it. "You need a dramatic reading."   
  
"I need nothing of the sort!" Fudge groaned. "Yes you do," Gabriel said, pushing him into a nearby chair,   
  
"You have no idea how many people suffered to have this story written and I refuse to let you blow it off like this." He glared at Fudge before taking the paper in his hands, "THE THIRD CAMP-- Rita Skeeter considered by many as the baddest babe ever to set her pretty little hands to the quill has finally crossed the line between journalism and third-class fiction, writes Special Corespondent Gabriel Cox. Skeeter, infamous for shredding the images and wrecking the livelihoods of many innocent citizens has struck again, this time her insufferable mud-slinging was aimed at Albus Dumbledore, known forever and a day as one of the greatest wizards the world has ever seen. Skeeter fabricated her story from tiny bits of information, all scraped up and bubbled into a fantabulous stew she knew you, dear readers, would gobble up. But stew is stew and journalism is journalism and there is no correlation between Rita's story and the truth I give you now today.   
  
Point one, forget the press for the last fourteen years, Sirius Black in innocent--" Gabriel paused, looking   
at his Uncle, "You've head the stories, about Black and the Triwizard Cup, right?"   
  
"Yes," Fudge growled.   
  
"I'll skip them then," Gabriel said, staring down at the page, "here we go-- It is thanks to people like Rita Skeeter that we face this war divided into three camps: Voldemort, the Ministry, and the people who know the truth-- the Third Camp. Many of you have fallen victim to Voldemort in the past, and he has already victimized people today: Karkaroff, Harry Potter, Cedric Diggory, who was murdered in cold blood a reminder of the constant fear we lived in fourteen years ago, fear that suddenly has something to ground itself in. We must face that fear, if not for our sake, for the sake the ones we love for when Voldemort returns to full strength, no one will be safe any longer, families will be ripped asunder, our way of life torn apart from the inside. I cannot sugar-coat the dangerous times ahead of us, only tell you this, if we plan to face these times and live, we must do so united as one camp, not two or three or four. For the time being we must but our differences apart and join together to face the rising storm."   
  
Fudge sneezed slightly.   
  
"That was aimed toward you, Uncle," Gabriel said, laying the paper down.   
  
Fudge sputtered, "Do you want to ruin me?"   
  
"No." Gabriel said "For a long time I did, but now I want you to trust Dumbledore, he is back--"   
  
Fudge got to his feet, "Good bye, Gabriel."   
  
"What? What do you mean?" Gabriel jumped out of his chair, his face in shock.   
  
"I have Ministry business to attend to," Fudge said calmly, in the tone one would use to address a mental patient.   
  
"You won't even listen to us!" Gabriel yelled.   
  
"You are obviously a very confused and misguided individual, good day," and with that, Fudge walked out of the apartment.   
  
----  
  
Percy Weasley was feeling very smug. Smug was a regular emotion for Percy who, after thoroughly researching the subject, had proved himself to be the youngest department head in the entire history of the Ministry of Magic-- and such an important department like International Magical Cooperation! Of course he was "sad" about Mr. Crouch's tragic death, and its consequences, but some people would believe anything if it came out of the mouth of Albus Dumbledore.   
  
At least he still had Penelope, he thought, fingering the ring in his pocket. He had been wanting to ask her... for weeks, ever since he had scraped up the money for a ring.   
  
Tapping his fingers on the desk, in a rare moment of impulsiveness, Percy decided he would wait no longer, standing up abruptly, he brushed past his secretary, "I'll be back in about twenty minutes, Ellie."   
  
"Yes, sir," she said, busy filling out of the numerous forms that was as integral a part of the Ministry as the existence of magic itself. Percy never could get over of the thrill of people calling him sir.   
Penelope only worked two floors down, as a secretary in the Department of Mysteries. Naturally Percy couldn't ask about her job, so they just talked about his, which suited him just fine. Whistling as he jogged down the stairs Percy pulled open the door to Penny's department...  
  
...and entered hell. The once white walls were now charred black, desks chairs and paper in ruins indistinguishable from each other, all making up the charred rubble that coated the floor. Percy saw a hand, charred and black poking from the rubble that law by his feet. Right in the center of the offices, green and glowing, was the Dark Mark, giving him a sadistic smile. Where's your Penny now, it seemed to say, Find her in here... if you want to find her in here. The walls were still smoldering.   
  
"Can I help you, sir?" a woman in a hit wizard uniform stepped towards Percy, holding a hose. All around him, similarly dressed wizards were sifting through the rubble, putting out blazes and edging around the glowing Dark Mark. Percy felt his voice seize up, "What happened?"   
  
"A bomb-- a Muggle device so it didn't set off the curse sensors, an owl carried it in one of the secretaries opened it..."   
  
"Which one?" Percy fought to keep his voice calm. Not Penny, please... not Penny.   
  
"Her deskplate reads Tonya Holmes, but there were no survivors."   
  
Somehow, just somehow, Percy managed to keep his face impassive, but his voice was another matter, it shook uncontrollably when he next spoke, "Who did this?"   
  
"The envelope must have had a charm on it, because it was untouched by the blast. The Dark Mark drifted out of it, the name of the letter was T. M. Riddle, we're still running security checks--"   
Percy stopped listening, he knew then he couldn't deny the truth any longer. T. M. Riddle, first he had almost taken his sister and now he had taken Penny... "Lord Voldemort," said Percy quietly, not caring if he was interrupting her, not caring if he said the name or not.   
  
"Excuse me?" the woman had paled considerably.   
  
"T. M. Riddle, Tom Marvolo Riddle is Lord Voldemort, just read the paper- I can't explain." Somehow Percy managed to get himself through the door.   
  
----  
  
"Mr. Fudge, Percy Weasley wants to see you--" his assistant Nina said, sticking her head in through the door.   
  
"Can't he get an appointment?" Fudge said irritably from behind the pile of paperwork that was part and parcel of being Minister.   
  
"He says its urgent, sir--"   
  
"All right," Fudge sighed, "Probably has a lead in the Cauldron Thickness case." Fudge liked Percy Weasley, liked him allot. Unlike the rest of that family, Percy had work ethic, tact, and discipline. It would not surprise Fudge to see him sitting behind the desk he now occupied. Percy, in a way, was the son to him that Gabriel could never allow himself to be. .   
  
But the Percy Weasley Nina ushered in was not the Percy Weasley Fudge knew and respected. This Percy had a manic glint in his eyes that unsettled Fudge and reminded him vaguely of Alastor Moody. Percy held a diamond ring in his hand, which he was fingering madly. When Nina had shut the door he walked over to Fudge's desk, "Do you know what I was going to do ten minutes ago, Mr. Fudge?"  
  
Fudge was beginning to get worried, after the 400 odd Howlers in response to Gabriel's article, the last thing he needed was a irrational conversation with a usually rational individual. "What were you going to do, Percy?"   
  
He put the ring on Fudge's desk, "I was going to ask Penelope Clearwater to marry me."   
  
"Oh that's wonderful!" Fudge smiled, relieved. Percy Weasley was coming to him to ask advice on how to pop the question, the sly old boy!   
  
"She's a secretary in the Department of Mysteries," Percy said-- staring at Fudge, "Do you understand what I mean, Mr. Fudge?"   
  
"Yes," Fudge said, feeling the bottom drop out of his relief, "I'm terribly sorry--"   
  
"Who did this?" Percy said, sounding amazingly threatening.   
  
"Sirius Black of course. He murdered Karkaroff probably as a result of Barty Crouch's actions at the Triwizard Cup." Fudge shuddered at the memory.   
  
"No, Mr. Fudge, I don't think so." Percy leaned over the desk, "I think it was the work of the man who was supposedly defeated fourteen years ago, by my brother's best friend. It was Lord Voldemort--"   
  
"Don't say that name!"   
  
"How long can you hide from the truth. I did-- look where it got me! Look around, open you eyed or end up dead! Voldemort is back, you can't hide in safe little forms forever. Penny died because I hid, who will have to die to convince you to act! I'm joining the Third Camp, get yourself another Department head!" Percy strode out of the office.   
  
Fudge sat there for a long time, a long time just staring up at the ceiling, the floor, anywhere but to the ring on his desk. Eventually his mind drifted back to the past... the Cup, Dumbledore's words... when they parted ways, and then... to Severus Snape-- the mark burning on his arm "...we both felt the mark burn, we both knew that he had returned..."  
  
"Why, Albus, why?" Fudge murmured to himself, wishing with every ounce of soul he could just hole up and hide from the terrors he was about to face, but he couldn't... not anymore.  
  
"Nina," he called as his assistant ducked her head in through the door, "Draft a letter to Dumbledore, its time to make amends."   
  



End file.
